


Remember the Good Times

by caffeinatednightowl, Mirror_Verse



Series: Mirror-Verse [62]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatednightowl/pseuds/caffeinatednightowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirror_Verse/pseuds/Mirror_Verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean loves Cas's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember the Good Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekoshojo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekoshojo/gifts).



Dean loves Cas’s hair. 

He loves its softness; how it’s neither curly nor straight—a wavy and stuck up mess of black that’s always mussed-up like he just rolled out of bed. He loves its color, its smell, everything about it. 

Of course, he doesn’t let his love of it show. He and Cas were close,  _very_ close, but he was pretty sure someone would be suspicious if he leaned over and sniffed Cas’s hair in public. 

The first time he discovered his love for it was that one time they were in a bar shortly after his 21st birthday. Cas and him didn’t usually go out, but it was a special occasion. Cas had won third place for life-drawings in their school’s art show, so Dean decided he needed a treat. 

By “treat” he had meant for a few shots to go around, a couple laughs, for both of them go to back home staggering on each other, and fall asleep in a warm heap. 

Not for Cas to be bent over a public toilet in a bar, retching into the bowl. 

"Oh my God, Cas, I’m sorry," Dean fretted, his hands running up and down his best friend’s back, not caring if anyone saw because  _Cas was sick_ and  _it was all his fault._ _  
_

 _“_ I don’t think I like vodka, Dean.” Cas made another sputtering sound. 

"Yeah, I get that, buddy." Dean ran his hands along Cas’s shoulders and then to the back of his head, ruffling Cas’s hair in what he hoped was nothing more than a friendly gesture. If Cas noticed, he was too busy puking to say anything. 

The hair-ruffling thing became sort-of a habit after that. Whenever Cas was going to leave, Dean couldn’t help but ruffle up Cas’s already messy hair to an even more rumpled mess. If Cas was in one of his moods regarding his artwork, Dean would cheer him up with words, and another little ruffle on his head. If Cas did anything cute or that would make Dean smile, he couldn’t help that little head ruffle. It was sort of an intimate gesture that didn’t cross over the Definitely-A-Little-Too-Friendly line, making it easy to be interpreted as a, “You’re a good buddy,” sort of thing and not a, “I am trying to find as many excuses to touch your hair as possible,” sort of thing.

Which it most definitely  _wasn’t._  

Dean didn’t think about it too much, until a night he and Cas were on the couch, watching a baseball game on the fuzzy-slightly blurry old television, and after Cas said something funny, Dean reached up and ruffled Cas’s hair again. 

"Why do you do that?" Cas asked, Dean’s hand freezing mid-rub.

Of course, he had to play it stupid. “Do what?”

“ _That_ ,” Cas gestured up to his hair as Dean pulled his hand back. “You’ve been doing it for a while and I always wondered why.” _  
_

Dean gulped. _Shit._  It wasn’t like he could say, “I really like touching your hair because I may have a gigantic crush on you,” but that wasn’t the only reason. Whenever Sammy aced a test, or the first time he told him he had a date with Jess, Dean had ruffled up his little brother’s hair, too, though with not quite the frequency and enthusiasm he had for touching Cas’s hair. It was strange, but the gesture came natural to him, for some reason. 

"I don’t know," he said, staring at the hand that had previously been in Cas’s hair. "I’ve just always…" He went to scratch the back of his neck, rubbing up his own hair in the process, and then a memory snapped to the front of his mind. 

 _"Did you find these all by yourself?"_  said his own father, smiling at him in a way that Dean had never seen again. It was at a beach, so many years ago…when Sammy was still a toddler and before his Mom and Dad had started fighting and those few years when everything was happy and bright and perfect. He had dropped a ton of seashells at his father’s feet, smiling and beaming at the praise.  _"I don’t know what I’m going to do with all of these,"_  his father laughed, reaching out and ruffling up Dean’s hair.  _"Good job. Why don’t you go find some for Sammy?"_  And then Dean had smiled, nodded, and ran back to the waterline, his mother waving at him as he went. 

Coming back to the present, he noticed Cas was staring at him. And not his usual staring, but his more Concerned Staring(TM) that could rival Sammy’s own version. “Dean?”

"My dad," Dean said, shaking his head slightly if he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t really want to inherit anything from that guy, but John Winchester’s love of fixing cars and hair-ruffling had somehow stuck. "I guess he used to do it to me…a long time ago, back when I was just a kid and everything was good." Dean gave a cold sort of laugh. "I never wanted to be like him, and yet here I am, doing something he used to do to me. Man, he’d probably rub it in my face if he was still here."

Though Dean sometimes missed his Dad, and felt incredible guilt that his father died of a freak heart attack a few years ago before he could patch things up with him, sometimes when he was in a bitter place in his heart, he felt a little glad John Winchester wasn’t still hanging over his shoulder, telling him to be a man and giving him a brutal lecture about why he needed to nut up and stop “looking so gay and eyeing up the boys.” John Winchester would’ve hated Cas, Dean knew. Cas was a painter and was passionate about it and could talk for hours on end about paintings and artist and techniques and famous art museums he wanted to see one day, and with how they were always hanging around each other—yeah, John would’ve given Dean Hell for that. 

Though he hated the feeling, feeling guilt over it later, on some nights when Dean was in a real dark place in his mind, he was almost glad his father was gone; John Winchester was spared the disappointment and disgust of the, “Dad, I kind of like dudes,” talk, and Dean was spared the hurt and shame knowing his dad never would accept him. 

Dean was drawn back into the present by a familiar, calming sensation—Cas’s own, long fingers ruffling through his hair. Cas smiled, and Dean felt his cheeks grow hot and  _willed_ himself not to blush. “Dean, Gabriel once told me this about my own parents; it’s okay to remember the good things about them and embrace them. Because these days, the good memories are all you have left.” Cas continued to smile, removing his hand from Dean’s hair, and said, “You’re a better man than your father ever was.’”

Dean swallowed, and had to look away from Cas for a moment. “How do you know?” His father had been a Marine. His father was a hero, and had been his  _own_ hero for many years. His father had fucked up so many times and yeah, Dean was done making excuses for him, but that didn’t mean that Dean didn’t have colossal fuck-ups of his own. 

"Because I know you," said Cas softly, and when Dean looked back at his best friend there was something in his eyes, something Dean recognized but couldn’t quite place. 

Looking away quickly, Dean muttered, “Shut up, the game’s back on,” and ruffled Cas’s hair again, his eyes glued to the television. 

Ever since then, whenever Dean ruffled Cas’s hair, Cas smiled a soft, almost-concealed smile to himself as well. The memory of that night, their talk, and when Cas told Dean that Dean was a better man that his father ever was…that was  _their_  memory, a bright spot that Dean could pull out any day when he started going to those dark thoughts in the depths of his mind once more. It was a nice, place, and like so many other good memories lately, it was Cas that had given it to him.

He really didn’t deserve Cas’s friendship. 

Still, he was selfish about it, and would keep it and keep on running his fingers through Cas’s hair whenever he felt like it. Cas never protested and Dean had to be mistaken but…it seemed like Cas  _might_ have liked Dean playing with his hair as much as Dean liked doing it.


End file.
